The Powers That Screw You
by Tuch
Summary: The Angel Investigations crew laments life in fanfiction.


The Powers That Screw You 1/1  
  
Rating: PG-13 (for naughty language and suggestive themes)  
  
Disclaimer: Possible spoilers through season 4. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own these characters. I just like to screw with them.   
  
Summary: The Angel Investigations crew laments life in fanfic.   
  
Note: This story plot is not my idea. I saw it done in a "Deep Space Nine" fic, and it was funny and brilliant. I am not nearly as funny or as brilliant, but I hope you like it anyway. I don't remember the name of the author who came up with the idea, but I admired it a lot. I hope nobody is offended. It's all in good fun.   
  
*  
Fred dragged her feet through the Hyperion's lobby and threw herself onto the couch, relishing its softness. It smelled vaguely of pizza sauce and demon blood, but she didn't mind – it was comfy. Gunn, Angel, Cordy and Lorne acknowledged her presence with brief nods as they sat cross-legged, digging into a communal pizza.   
  
"I can't take it anymore," she whined. "My back is sore, my legs are killing me, and if I have to let Wesley do that nasty thing with the carrot one more time..."  
  
"Here," Cordy said, offering her a slice. "Have some pizza. It'll make you feel better."   
  
Fred took the slice and nibbled the end. She had to admit that the mushroom-sausage combo WAS yummy.   
  
"What is it with these sick fucks, anyway?" she asked. "Where do they come up with these stories?"  
  
"It's the nature of fanfic," Angel explained, not for the first time. "A bunch of budding authors come up with stories the show's writers would never get past the censors."  
  
"But carrots in my whoosiewhatsis? That's just sick."   
  
"Nobody said fanfic was limited to the tasteful," Lorne said sympathetically.   
  
"What did Wesley do to you this time?" Gunn asked. The thought of Fred with   
Wes made him want to get medieval with his hubcap axe.   
  
"You don't want to know," Fred answered. "Pass me the Diet Coke." Gunn passed the soda, and Lorne made himself comfortable on the couch next to Fred.   
  
"Don't feel bad, sugar," Lorne said. "The treatment I get from the fanfic writers is just as bad as what I have to deal with from the show's writers. I'm constantly getting my cute green ass kicked, when I get mentioned at all. Look at this." He lifted his shirt to show a fresh purple scar.   
  
"Who did that?" she asked.   
  
"Angel's little hellspawn, of course. Last time it was Wolfram and Hart, and the time before that it was some random vampire/vengeance demon/Slayer."  
  
Angel finished off his dinner and stood. "Don't be too hard on Connor," he said.  
  
Lorne replied snidely, "I know. He's not really bad. He's just drawn that way."  
  
"Where's Connor now?" Fred asked.   
  
"On a date with Dawn. I think they're at the carnival, eating cotton candy and winning prizes."  
  
"Awww, that's cute," Cordy said. "I wonder—"  
  
The sound of a door slamming cut her off, and they turned to see Connor looking wet and pissed off.   
  
"So, how'd the romance go?" Gunn asked.   
  
"Don't ask." He peeled his soaked shirt off his body, tossed it to the floor, and picked a clean shirt out of a conveniently placed box of clothes. They all came in dirty, wet and blood-soaked regularly enough that it seemed worth the trouble to place a box of clothes in the lobby.   
  
"Come on, how bad could it have been?" Angel asked. "You guys are usually sweet together."  
  
"That's the problem," Connor grumbled. "It's making me sick. This time, I had to win her a stuffed unicorn. Then I had to kiss her in the rain and give her my jacket. Why do people think kissing in the rain is romantic? It's just wet and cold."  
  
The others merely grinned. Connor always came back from dates with Dawn cranky.   
  
"At least you weren't tortured and angst-ridden this time," Cordy offered.  
  
"I'm always tortured and angst-ridden," Connor corrected her. "Even on the Ferris wheel."  
  
Angel asked, "Where's Dawn now?"  
  
"She had to go back to Sunnydale. Whistler showed up with a new script for her, something about Buffy's death and her becoming the new Slayer."  
  
They all rolled their eyes.   
  
Gunn stood. "Speaking of Whistler, where is that little bastard? He should be showing up with new scripts any time now."  
  
As if on cue (actually, he was waiting on standby for a good time to make a dramatic entrance), Whistler popped in from nowhere. He did so right next to Cordy, who spilled her soda on her new white shirt in surprise.   
  
"Asshole," she muttered, dabbing at the stain. Whistler grinned enigmatically, which is pretty much how he did everything.   
  
"Hello, one and all," he said. He held a bundle of white papers beneath one arm. "I have what you've all been waiting for."  
  
"A quick death?" Gunn asked.   
  
"Just for Miss Burkle," he answered, and Fred groaned. She could only image what the writers had in store for her now.   
  
"Where's Mr. Wyndham-Price?" Whistler asked. "We can't start without him."  
  
"When I left him, he had a very self-satisfied smile on his face," answered Fred. "He said he'd be back right after he finished masturbating in front of Lilah's ghost."  
  
"Wow," Angel said. He whistled softly. "You're right: That fanfic writer is a sick fuck."  
  
Whistler moved the paper bundle from beneath his arm to his hands. "Eh, what the hell," he said. "I'll save him for last. First up, Angel and Miss Chase."  
  
Cordy and Angel stood side by side. Stories starring the two of them usually reeked of 'shippiness. Whistler handed them each a packet of papers.   
  
"You're going to Sunnydale," he told them. "You two are a happy little couple, but Angel needs to deal with some leftover Buffy issues."  
  
Angel flipped through the pages and laughed.   
  
"What?" Cordy asked.   
  
"Page 12. You kick Buffy's ass. Like THAT would ever happen."  
  
Cordy rolled up her script and nailed him in the back of the head with it.   
  
"I don't want to drive all the way to Sunnydale," she complained. "Long car rides make my butt hurt."  
  
"Yeah," Angel agreed. "And have you heard about the rise in gas prices in this country? How do you expect us to pay for this trip?"  
  
"Hey," Whistler said. "I don't write 'em, I just distribute 'em. Besides, Mr. Gunn has a job this week."  
  
Gunn's eyes lit up. "Really?" he said. "I actually have something to do? You mean, besides help the others beat something up?"  
  
Whistler handed him a script and nodded. "You hook up with electric Gwen at a museum, where she's trying to heist something. Hi-jinks ensue."  
  
A huge, shit-eating grin lit up Gunn's face. "Oh yeah," he said, pleased with the turn of events. Fred glared at him but said nothing. Wesley took that moment to enter. His hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, and he looked exhausted but happy.   
  
"We don't want to hear about it," Angel said. "Just take your script."  
  
Whistler handed out the other scripts, and they looked over their parts.   
  
"Hey," Fred said cheerfully. "Lorne and I get to hang out this week." Her face dropped. "In Pylea," she added.   
  
"I hate this already," said Lorne.   
  
"Don't worry," Whistler told them. "You get rescued by those three chicks from "Charmed."  
  
Lorne dropped his head into his hands. "Nothing sucks quite like home." Fred didn't look too pleased, either.   
  
Connor looked up from his paper, his eyebrows furrowed.   
  
"What's up, kid?" Lorne asked. "Another Mary Sue from Quortoth who falls through a portal?"  
  
"No. Actually, I've never seen this one before."  
  
"Really?" Cordy asked. "A new story? That's rare. Whatcha get?"  
  
"Who's Lindsey?" Connor asked.  
  
Angel glowered. "Why the hell does that guy keep popping back up? He's like a bad rash."  
  
"Oh, hush," admonished Cordy. "You're just bitter because he gets more play than you do."   
  
Connor turned to Wesley, his face a blend of confusion and surprise. "Hey, Wes, I didn't know you had a cage in your apartment."  
  
Fred blushed, and Wes just smiled, his head down. "How did you know about that?" he asked.   
  
"Page 7," Connor replied. "It says here that Lindsey finds me sneaking around in your apartment, and he—"  
  
Angel took two long strides toward Connor and tried to grab the script from his hand, but the young man dodged him and flipped a few pages forward. His eyes got big, and he said softly, "Ohhhh…so that's why they call it 'slash.'"  
  
"That's it!" Angel cried. "I'm not leaving you with a sexual pervert!"  
  
"You left me with Wesley," he said pointedly. A silence fell over the room, and a group "ewwww" filled the lobby.   
  
"OK, enough chitchat. Get to work," Whistler ordered.   
  
"Wait!" Fred said, stopping them before they could leave. "What about you, Wesley? Don't tell me you get the week off."  
  
"Of course not," he said, in all his obnoxious Britishness. "I'm staying here...with Giles."  
  
Another "ewwww" rang through the lobby, and Wes threw up his hands. "Oh, come on! I'm not always a pervert. Giles and I have an exciting adventure planned. We're going to weed out evil in the Watcher's Council. Someone's trying to destroy the Slayer line. It's all very exciting."  
  
"You mean the Council that went boom?" Gunn asked skeptically.   
  
"This is an alternate universe fic in which the First Evil never destroyed the Council, and Faith is still in prison."  
  
"Oooooh," Cordy said sarcastically. "I love fics that completely ignore reality."  
  
"OK, that's it," Whistler said again. "Off you go."   
  
The group split up, each going their separate ways. Whistler watched them go, humming softly to himself. Another day, another chance to fuck with the people he loved. 


End file.
